


the fairest sun

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Kingsguard Jon Snow, Queen Sansa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-09 04:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18909961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I think you’ll make a great Queen,” Jon said, hesitantly, and Sansa's warm smile seemed to brighten up the entire room.Sansa is the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms, Jon the Kingsguard sworn to protect her. Canon AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon divergence that kicks off very early on, where Jon goes to King’s Landing along with Ned and his sisters.

Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, died unexpectedly some two moons after Eddard Stark’s appointed as Hand of the King. The Queen was in excellent health, and young still, and the best guess Maester Pycelle could make was that perhaps Her Grace had ingested a bad batch of moon tea leaves.

Ned closed his eyes as the shaken Maester finished reporting his findings to the Council, fearing Robert’s reaction, but his old friend seemed too stunned to say anything, too silent as they returned together to the King’s chambers.

“I can’t believe she’s dead,” Robert whispered. “I can’t believe it. I always thought she’d bloody bury me, Ned. And then she’d dance at the funeral trying not to laugh.”

There had been no love lost between the King and his wife, but Robert seemed… shaken. When he sent away Ned that evening there was a pitcher full of wine on his bedside table, as usual, but by the morning it’d been only half-emptied. While his Council deliberated on the affairs of the realm, Robert invited his three children for breakfast in his solar, an event that according to household gossip had never occurred before.

The Queen’s funeral was, of course, magnificent. The Grand Sept was packed as it had been for the Queen and King’s wedding some twenty years prior, all the guests wearing their most expensive mourning attire. The Starks hadn’t brought anything suitable from Winterfell, and so Septa Mordane had to explain to the Lord Hand that it was essential he commissioned several new clothing for Lady Sansa, who as the Prince’s betrothed had to observe stricter mourning than the rest of the court.

“Joff says they are going to Casterly Rock with Lord Tywin,” Sansa told her father at supper that night. “Him, Myrcella and Tommen. But…” She pushed around a forkful of greens on her plate, choosing her words with care. “He doesn’t seem very sad. He called Tommen stupid for crying where people could see, and Tommen is just a boy, and it didn’t seem fair. But he didn’t listen when I told him that.”

The thought came treacherous into her mind: Robb would’ve never said that. She turned her head, glancing at her half-brother seated next to Arya. _Jon_ would never say that, and her mother and bastard brother were not close.

“Sansa, darling,” Father began. “Grief makes people act oddly. Why don’t you write to your mother tonight?” he added gently. “She would love to hear from you.”

“I’ve heard that King Robert ordered the Kingslayer to remain behind. They’re going to the Rock to bury his sister, and Robert ordered him to stay in King’s Landing and guard the Keep.”

That was Jon Snow, looking to Father with challenge in his eyes. Slowly, Eddard nodded.

“Aye, Jon. I’ve heard that too.”

“That seems cruel.”

An awkward silence set on the table. Ned Stark was not a man to speak ill of his King, but he would never suffer to tell a lie either. Finally, he exhaled.

“I will talk to Robert tomorrow. Again.”

“Father?” said Arya. “Are you going to Casterly Rock?”

As the Hand of the King, it should fall to Ned to remain in King’s Landing and rule the realm. As Robert’s old friend, he’d been asked to travel with him to the lion’s pit, as Robert put it.

“I must. But don’t worry,” said Ned, “we won’t be long at all.”

 

Jon Snow didn’t like King’s Landing. Part of it was the humidity, the narrow streets, the smell of humanity and despair. But a bigger part was his own uneasiness as he wandered the corridors of the Hand’s Tower, drifting aimlessly with nowhere to be.

He trained with the sword for hours at times, measuring himself against all the knights and squires and foreign mercenaries who’d come to find fame and fortune at court, and he was sure he’d vastly improved since the last time he’d faced Ser Rodrick in Winterfell, but a Lord’s son couldn’t be a guard, and yet a bastard boy wasn’t good enough to rub shoulders with the officers and the full knights. Lord Eddard’s household had treated him as part of the family all his life, albeit in a less exalted position than his legitimate siblings, and there was a divide there that couldn’t be filled even if Jon had cared to. But he was a bastard still, too lowborn to be a companion to the young princes as Robb would have been in his place, and he truly missed the easy camaraderie he’d shared with his brother back home. Hells, Jon thought, he even missed Theon Greyjoy’s jokes.

He had no official duties to fill his time with. He helped Vayon Poole, Father’s steward, with his accounts and researches, and he handled the most tedious of his father’s duties, but every time that these tasks took him into the Keep proper he felt eyes on him, someone’s gaze following him wherever he went. He’d taken to go riding outside the city walls, Ghost at his side, and if there was a real benefit to the Queen’s unexpected death was that Jon no longer had to worry about keeping his wolf out of sight in case Her Grace decided to ask for another Stark pelt.

In the end, Father didn’t manage to persuade the King to allow Jaime Lannister to leave the city. Privately, Jon wondered how hard he’d tried. It was common knowledge in the Keep that, since his wife’s death, Robert had been attempting to drink less, and that left him irascible and prone to moods. Still, Eddard seemed to take it as a positive sign, and Jon had heard him make plans to go on a hunt with Robert when they returned from Lannisport, like they’d used to do when they’d been boys, and perhaps take  Prince Joffrey with them.

Jon’s mouth twisted as he thought about the Crown Prince. On the day of his departure from the Keep he’d refused to acknowledge Sansa’s goodbye in front of both of their families and assembled courtiers, still sulking over a stupid discussion they’d had on the day of the Queen’s funeral. Sansa had taken her betrothed’s disdain with perfectly good grace, curtseyed to the King, her father, and to Lord Lannister, and then she’d gone back to the Tower of the Hand and cried bitter tears into her pillow.

Jon kicked a stone off his path, and heard it hit something, a soft scoff.

He raised his head to find the Kingslayer, wearing his golden Lannister armour, glancing at him with his eyebrows raised. He was very pale, green eyes burning on his face.

Jon took a half step back.

“Jon Snow, is it? Were you aiming at me, or has the pavement done something to deserve your wrath?”

He spoke like a man looking for a fight.

“I’m sorry, Ser. I wasn’t, I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly. Tell me, Jon Snow,” he drawled Jon’s name, lopsided grin never leaving his face, “where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Nowhere, Ser.” Jon shrugged. “The training courts.”

“Excellent.” He clapped Jon’s shoulder with far too much strength. “Sorry about that. You’ll go up against me, Snow. Some would say you should be flattered.”

Jon eyed him warily. It was hardly worth it to refuse, but the Kingslayer looked vicious. He also looked as though he’d barely slept at all in the past week, and like he might drop from exhaustion at any minute. He let Ser Jaime lead him to the courts and to the weapon rack in the corner, where he unclasped the chest piece of his armour.

“‘t’s only fair, isn’t it?” he mumbled. “Help me out here, Snow.” And then, as Jon’s fingers worked the clasps, “You ever been a squire, boy?”

“We don’t have knights in the North.”

“Mh.” This close, Jon could smell on his breath that he’d been drinking. “Maybe you’ve the right idea. Take a sword, lad, and try to hit me with it at least once.”

There were those who said that Jaime Lannister was the greatest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms, and Jon could see why. He was light on his feet, an advantage Jon was used to having over his opponents, and every strike of his sword arm was lighting quick and perfectly executed, delivered with a strength that left Jon’s arms trembling after a parry. He lasted perhaps ten minutes before his weapon was wrenched from his grip and he folded in half with his hands on his knees, panting.

“Not bad, Snow.” Jaime was swaying on his feet, and he looked even worse than Jon felt. _But he still won_. “Help me put this back on, will you?”

It took a lot longer to get the Kingslayer into his armour than earlier to take it off, mostly because Jon’s fingers and arms felt numb from gripping his sword and shield.

“Thanks, boy,” Jaime said afterwards. “I’ll see you around. After all, I’m not going anywhere. Can’t even leave the blood Keep, His Grace said.”

He looked, if possible, even paler than he had earlier. Jon spoke before he could think about it, “Are you sure you don’t need—”

“What?” he barked. “What? Tell me.” Bitter amusement flickered through the Kingslayer’s face, followed by anger. “What could I possibly need?”

“You look like you’re about to crawl into a ditch and die,” Jon said, bluntly, and Jaime threw back his head and laughed.

“Wouldn’t that be nice. Take care, Snow,” he added, walking off. “I’ll see you.”

 

The King returned from Lannisport six weeks after the funeral, along with his Hands and the handful of courtiers who’d made the journey west. That night in the Hand’s Tower Lord Eddard was reunited with his children, and he listened indulgently to Arya chattering about her dance lessons, and Sansa asking questions about Lannisport and the Rock.

“Were you at the tourney there, Father, after the Greyjoy rebellion? I heard it was grander even than the Hand’s tourney.”

Ned shook his head. “I wasn’t. I’d never been to Lannisport before.”

“Oh. But will you go again, and can I come with you? Jeyne said that Beth said that the Queen always took the princes and Princess Myrcella to the Rock every year. They say the cliffs are beautiful.”

They said distance made the heart grow fonder, and Sansa was back to showing some warmth when she spoke about her betrothed, albeit less enthusiastically than she would have once. She’d grown quiet of late and Jon, who preferred to sit back and watch and let others do the talking, had watched her change in the days Father had been away and found himself thinking that his sister might need someone to talk to who wasn’t her friend Jeyne or her Septa.

He was shaken from his thoughts by his father’s words.

“…and, next week, we’ll host the King for dinner. He insisted.”

“The King?” Sansa asked. “Here in the Tower?”

Lord Eddard nodded. “He wants me to go hunting with him in the Kingswood. We used to hunt, when we were in the Vale. And apparently he’s never gone with Prince Joffrey, because he was too young and Cersei disliked it, but now the King has decided they should spend more time together. Jon, you’re coming too,” he said. “I know you like to go riding outside the city walls. You can take Ghost.”

“Can I come too?” Arya asked. “Father? Please.” And then, before he could answer. “Jon’ll look after me.”

Jon chuckled. “Will I, sister?”

Arya shot him a warning look. “You will if Father asks.”

“ _Arya_ ,” said Father. “ _You_ are definitely too young. Hunts can be dangerous.” He hesitated. “Perhaps some other time.”

“Afterwards,” he went on, “Robert has requested we host him here. It won’t be anything too elaborate, but I think Vayon will have his hands full. Sansa, would you help him?” he asked. “I think it’s something you’d do very well.”

“Of course, Father.” Sansa’s eyes were shining, and Jon had to smile at her eagerness. If there was one thing Lady Catelyn had taught her daughter, it was how to run a keep.

 _And she_ _’ll waste that on Joffrey_ , he thought, with a surge of anger that took him by surprise.

“Father,” said Sansa, as if she’d heard his thoughts, “will Prince Joffrey join the King for dinner in the Tower?”

Lord Eddard frowned. “I don’t see why not. I’ll let you know.”

 

The following afternoon when Jon climbed the stairs to Vayon Poole’s rooms he found Sansa there already, going through the steward’s lists of accounts and supplier in the capital.

“I suppose the King will want to eat the game he’ll bring back from the hunt,” she was saying. “But what if they don’t catch anything?”

“They will,” Jon cut in. “Or else, someone who got there before His Grace will stand back and let the King have the kill.”

“Jon!” her blue eyes widened in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the accounts from Lord Renly,” he said, putting the roll of parchment on Poole’s desk. “Do you want me to come back later?” he asked, but Poole shook his head.

“Just use my desk, Jon.”

The scroll he’d received from Renly’s secretary was two feet long and written in a small sloppy hand. He used one of the books on the desk to keep the top from curling and began reading through the long list of names and dates.

“What is that?” Sansa asked, curious. Poole answered for him.

“Lord Eddard has requested from Lord Renly an account of some of the cases that were judged in the past year by the office of the master of laws. He believes there may be cases of corruption.”

“He’s saying _Lord Renly_ is corrupted?” Sansa sounded astonished. “But surely—”

“Renly’s too rich for that,” said Jon. “But plenty of his clerks aren’t, and he doesn’t personally review every case that’s brought to his office?”

Sansa frowned slightly, before undoubtedly realising what she was doing and composing herself because ladies do not pull faces. “But why not?”

He shrugged. “That’s just how they do things at court, Father says. The King’s letting him review everything, but it will take forever.”

“But that’s _foolish_ ,” Sansa said. “When I’m Queen, I’m going to…”

She trailed off, and looked away. Jon watched her smooth out invisible creases on her dress, and cleared his throat.

“Sansa?”

He caught her eye and went on. “I think… I think you’d make a great Queen,” Jon said, hesitantly, and then he was pleased, absurdly pleased, with the warm smile that seemed to brighten up her entire face.

“Thank you, Jon.”

She didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the evening.


	2. Chapter 2

The hunt was a magnificent affair, and Jon knew by looking at the Court’s accounts in Father’s study that the coffers could barely afford it, and yet King Robert rode proudly at the head of the hunting party as if he truly didn’t have a care in the world.

He was looking better than Jon had ever seen him, he observed begrudgingly, not quite as bloated nor as red in the face, and he spoke amiably to his Lord Hand at his side as they left the city proper in the direction of the Kingswood. People stared, wide-eyed, as their King rode past, and here and there a smattering of cheers rose from the streets, smallfolk impressed by lace and finery, or mayhaps by Robert’s famed largesse. Prince Joffrey rode directly behind his father, alongside Lord Renly and the King’s Lannister squire, and Jon’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the boy’s stupid golden hair.

 At home, Jon had often gone hunting with Father and Robb, and any of the men from the town or the keep who would come along, and often women as well. All children in the North learned to hunt, and they learned to do so quickly and efficiently. Theirs was a harsh land of long merciless, and meagre most of all. Every keep and town in the North paid great attention to their food stores, stockpiling from the first spring harvest, and a man could be hanged for tampering with the reserves in any way. Once the heavy snows set in, the Lord of the castle and his kin would go hungry before the children of the smallfolk did,  the winter crops were nurtured with almost religious care, and good hunters could mean the difference between life and death.

The southrons had made a spectacle out of it.

Jon’s eyes went wide as they reached a field on the outskirts of the woods filled with large pavilions like at a tourney, with large tables that stretched on the lush grass and were set with the finest silverware from the Red Keep. Servants rushed about with fans and parasols and refreshments, and Prince Joffrey clearly thought nothing of calling a servant to erect an awning right over the large chair that had been brought out for him to sit while they waited for the hunt to begin. Off to the side, some courtiers were taking bets.

Jon watched the production unfolding in front of him, astonished and intrigued, and thought that Theon Greyjoy would have loved the opportunity to dress like a peacock and flaunt his archery skill in front of the ladies of the court.

“Joffrey!” It was King Robert’s voice, booming and thunderous, shaking Jon from his reverie. “Joff! Here, boy.”

The King was standing with Jon’s father, examining a series of lances offered by a gaggle of squires, and when the Prince arrived he slapped him on the shoulder and started telling a story about hunting mountain cats in the forests of the Vale.

“…And then Ned, here, and you wouldn’t tell it by looking at him, took that beast down right before he could jump on the Royce boy. Remember, Ned? Here. Take this one.”

They strolled away, weapons in hand, and got back in the saddle just as a horn blew in the distance. Another horn sounded, and the hunters began making their way among the trees.

“Not going, Jon?”

He turned around to see Harrion, one of Lord Eddard’s guards, leaning against a tree a few yards away. Jon shrugged. “Didn’t think I should,” he said. “You?”

“Gods, no. Lord Eddard went off with His Grace and two of his whitecloaks, and there’s no point in me going and try not to hit anything so some lord can do the honours. Bloody boring, if you ask me.” He laughed. “‘Least here there’s food.”

The wandered to one of the tables together, where, Jon learned with some delight, not only excellent refreshments had been set out but excellent wine as well, gold and rich and as sweet as summer, and he was pleasantly buzzed by the time the horns sounded again, announcing the return of the King’s party plus two big wild boars and a host of pheasants. Everyone seemed in very high spirits, the King most of all, and as Lord Eddard caught Jon’s eye he waved him over to his side.

“Ride with me, Jon. Robert is spending time with his son, he can’t begrudge me doing the same,” he said, and Jon’s chest filled with warmth.

 

In the evening Lord Eddard hosted both the King and his son in the Tower of the Hand, and Jon found himself seated between Arya and Vayon Poole at the end of the table. The King complimented Sansa for the dinner and she blushed very becomingly, which made Robert laugh and Joffrey smirk in a way that was eminently punchable. Then his eyes landed on Jon.

“Would you look at that! Boy, you’re the spitting image of our Ned when he was your age.” Jon Snow and King Robert had been in close quarters a handful of times before, but the King had never taken notice of him until now. He looked delighted. “Ned, I can’t believe you kept this from me.” Robert gave another of his booming laughs and, at his side, Lord Eddard looked somewhat ill at ease.

Jon looked between the two of them. A jolt went through him like icy water, and he wondered if the King knew, or suspected, who his mother was. He felt odd, conscious of every feature on his face in a way he never had before, his chest constricting as if he didn’t have enough air.

Robert turned his attention towards Lord Eddard and Jon exhaled, unclenching his fists under the table.

“Did you enjoy the hunt, my Prince?” Sansa asked of her betrothed. Two seats over Arya caught Jon’s gaze and rolled her dramatically, making a disgusted face around her mouthful of peas. Jon’s lips twitched and he went back to his meal, relieved, trying not to think of the King’s blue eyes on him.

 

Two days later, Lord Eddard called him in his study after returning from a Council meeting

“You should know, Jon,” said Father, sounding as reluctant as he looked. “The King has been asking after you.”

Jon leaned forward in his chair. “Has he?”

“Yes. He appears to be very interested. He wanted to know what you’ve been doing in King’s Landing, and how you’re finding the Keep.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Not much. But he said he wants to meet you, tomorrow.”

“Why?” Jon asked, feeling astonished. “He’s the King, and I— why does he care?”

Lord Eddard cleared his throat. “Robert and I have been friends for a long time. If I know him, and I believe I do…” he paused. “I believe I still know him, despite everything. I think he sees myself as a younger man in you, and I think he means to offer you some kind of position. You’re too old to be fostered, but not too old to be a squire.”

“But…” _We don_ _’t have knights in the North_ , he’d told Jaime Lannister. “I don’t follow the Seven, Father.”

“Neither do most of the Knights of the Realm,” said Ned with a hint of bitterness. “Jon, I wish you to do whatever you wish with your life. You don’t have to accept if you don’t want to, even if it’s Robert. I’ll tell him—”

“But I do,” said Jon slowly, surprising even himself. “I want to.”

“You do?” Eddard said. “Jon…”

“Why not?” There were powerful men at court who’d been born to much humbler origins than the castle-raised son of a Great Lord, bastard or not, sons of Houses so small they barely deserve the name, or even commoners, who’d gained their offices through personal accomplishment. He thought: _I can do that._ And then he’d return to Winterfell having made something of himself, the kind of brother Robb would be proud of having at his side.

“I want to,” he said, again. “I will.”

 

Sansa heard of her half-brother’s new position from Myrcella, during a long afternoon spent in the Princess’s rooms chattering idly under the watchful eyes of her septa. Myrcella has been lonely since her mother died, and she was young enough that there are no girls her age at court, and looked up to Sansa in a way that left her nervous about living up to it.

After Myrcella told her, Sansa needed to ask her to repeat herself. “But are you _sure_?” That seemed so surprisingly, Jon Snow as a knight, one day. Knights are noble-born and courteous and surely must know how to dance perfectly. But then again Ser Clegane is master of his own lands and no one would call _him_ courteous, and Jon once helped her back to her chambers when she sprained her ankle in the Godswood, and has a kind heart even if Sansa knows for a fact he’s never learned to dance. But still, it took her some effort to picture her sullen half-brother as one of the charming heroes from her storybooks.

Myrcella was nodding. “Father said so at breakfast. That he’ll be knighting Cousin Lancel soon, and taking on your brother. And, well,” she lowered her voice. “Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

Sansa blinked. “Jon?” She had to think about it. “I suppose.” She’d always thought her brother Robb handsome, with her broad shoulders and hair like burnished copper in the sun, and of Jon as his dark shadow, lean and always so pensive. But there was keenness in his eyes, and his callused hands were surprisingly gentle when he handled the rustling papers in Father’s study. “If you like that sort of looks.”

Myrcella was looking at her pointedly. “What?”

“Do you think Joff’s handsome?”

Once, Sansa had heard Jon Snow remark to Arya that Joffrey looked like a girl. She’d thought it a mean-spirited jape, perhaps born out of jealousy because Joffrey was a Prince with perfect manners and Jon just a bastard, but it was true that Joffrey didn’t have the sort of features that could be called _handsome_. He was beautiful, certainly, delicate-looking with soft pink lips that Sansa had often dreamed of kissing, but sometimes his mouth twisted into a cruel grin and she didn’t know what she’d done to set him off.

But Myrcella was waiting, expectant. She had the same green eyes as her brother, but kinder. The same eyes as Cersei.

“Joffrey… I think he’s very beautiful,” said Sansa, slowly. “And he always gives me flowers, and he said that when he’s old enough to joust he’ll ask me for my favour. And,” she added, “I would really like for us to be sisters.”

Myrcella grinned and clasped her hands, eyes shining. “Good. Then… what do you think about dining with us, in Father’s apartments? Do you think Lord Eddard would allow that?”

“Of course,” Sansa said, even though she truly wasn’t sure. But Father liked the King, and if Mother had been here she certainly would have encouraged Sansa to spend more time with her intended and his family. And mayhaps she would learn to know Joffrey better, so that one day they would truly be happy together.

“Besides,” said Myrcella, “your brother will probably be there as well, if he’s going to be squiring for Father. Not even a septa could object to that.”

She sounded just as excited to have Jon Snow around than to have Sansa join her family, something Sansa noticed with some amusement but didn’t say anything about. She tried picturing Jon as the Princess did, a silent older boy with a wild beast as a companion, and she smiled to herself. _It’ll be good to have him around_ , she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is where the story really picks up, and I’m excited to be getting there. See you all soon!


End file.
